


Dressed to the Nines

by YoungDumbandFullofHeadcanons



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Non-Binary Klaus Hargreeves, Pre-Canon, Public Humiliation, Queer Themes, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Self-Discovery, Sibling Bonding, he/him pronouns, mention dave katz, some background underage stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26273806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoungDumbandFullofHeadcanons/pseuds/YoungDumbandFullofHeadcanons
Summary: Five times Reginald Hargreeves caught Klause playing dress up
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 109





	1. Heels: Age 7

### Heels: Age 7

His siblings think it’s funny, teasing that this is the first time Klaus has ever been silent in their whole lives. But Klaus doesn’t even pretend to laugh through clenched teeth, his jaw wired so tight that his gums ache from the pressure. He kicks his feet under the table, refuses to drink the liquefied dinner Mom made him, and when the snickers of his siblings continue he drops his head to the table and tries not to cry. 

The kids stop giving him a hard time after a few days, after Diego calls him “brace-face” and Klaus starts openly weeping in the middle of training. They all feel bad, Allison rubbing his back, Five offering to loosen the wires so he doesn’t wheeze while he breathes, Luther scruffing Diego to make him apologize, and so on. 

But Klaus can feel the overbearing glare of their father on his back, weighing him down and ringing all the tears from his eyes. 

He had just been playing around, a few days ago during a game of hide and seek. Vanya was seeking, so all the kids knew they wouldn’t be found any time soon. Klaus found himself in Mom’s closet, running his hands over the pastel skirts and silk blouses, fascinated by the puffy crinoline and little satin bows on her heels. 

Impulsive as ever, he slips off his training shoes and tries on a pair of pink pumps, with pearls embellished along the pointed toes. They might be the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and he suddenly despises the dark, dull uniform he has to wear everyday. 

He stands on unsteady, bowed feet, ankles trembling from the sharp arch of the heel. He steadies himself on the closet door, looking for a mirror and finding none. Of course, Mom’s a robot, she doesn’t need a mirror, but there is one just down the hall past the foyer. 

Taking a few tottering steps on the marble, Klaus sets off down the hall, wondering idly if the shoes will look silly with his black knee-high socks. He should have taken them off before, and would now if he wasn’t so precariously tall and unstable. 

“W-What you doing?”

Klaus almost topples over in surprise and stumbles through the air to catch himself, looking behind him to see Diego half-hidden behind a bookshelf. Vanya is still seeking obliviously on the floor below.

“...Nothing.”

Diego squints at him with contempt, saying “Mom’s gonna be m-mad at you.”

Klaus straightens up as best he can, huffing at his brother’s judgmental tone as his knees knock together. “No she won’t, Mom never gets mad,” he says and shuffles a few more steps.

_ Just one foot in front of the other,  _ he thinks to himself, trying to walk heel-to-toe as elegantly as their robot mother was programmed to. He keeps looking down at his feat, holding his hands up by his shoulders, ready to reach for the banister or chaise lounge if he starts to tilt to either side. 

“K-klaus-”

“I’ll put ‘em back in a minute!” the boy insists, focused on the  _ click-clack  _ the heels on the marble floor.

“N-no-”

But Diego’s warning is interrupted by a gruff noise of disdain from across the hall, where Reginald Hargreeves stands in the doorway of his office. Klaus’s eyes dart upwards, catching the disapproving tilt of his father’s chin and the harsh gleam of his monocle, right as the boy trips over nothing. 

Struck by sudden shame, Klaus isn’t even able to break his fall, his chin colliding with the floor with a sickening crack. His forehead thumps to the floor next, making little sparkles dance behind his eyelids, and one of his ankles feels like it’s been twisted 90° too far. 

There’s a split second of numbness, Klaus lying face down on the floor seeing the blurry shadow of his father stretch across the room. And then the office door closes. 

The pain rushes in like fire under his skin, the hinges of his jaw pulsing with a bone-deep ache. His mouth opens to screech out in pain, but that only makes it  _ worse _ , and a slimy trail of drool and blood crawls out of his mouth, along with fragments of two of his baby teeth. 

After that it’s kind of a blur, Diego is freaking out and Mom appears out of nowhere and Klaus can’t stop screaming because his mouth hurts  _ so bad.  _ The other kids come rushing and watch as he struggles to sit up, hyperventilating as Mom pulls him to her chest and resets his jaw with unnatural precision. 

The last thing he remembers, before waking up to a brace holding his mouth shut while Mom and Pogo wire his teeth together, is seeing those pretty pink pumps lying forgotten on the floor.

_ It’s not fair. _


	2. Skirt: Age 11

### Skirt: Age 11

Klaus ditches endurance training by telling Dad there is a colonial ghost woman in the east hallway and he wants to try to conjure her. And to be fair, she is there sometimes, mostly late at night when Klaus is walking to the bathroom. Abigail bemoaning her dead baby has scared Klaus into pissing his pants more than once. 

But instead the young necromancer sneaks into the kids’ hallway, there’s something he’s been wanting to try. Last time he went into Allison’s room, she found all her makeup out of order and rumored Klaus into dunking his head in the toilet, so this time he goes to Vanya’s. 

She is playing her violin in the conservatory, a soft melody winding through the house and echoing in every corner. So Klaus slips into her little room and starts rifling through the closet. He pulls out one of the many black pleated skirts, and measures it against his waist. Allison is a little thicker across her hips, more muscle and natural curves developing, but Vanya is built more like him. 

If he wasn’t so impulsive, Klaus would think to go stash the skirt under his bed for later. Vanya wouldn’t notice it was gone, and if she did she wouldn’t have the gall to say something about it. But thinking ahead has never been one of his skills, so Klaus kicks off his shorts right there in his sister’s room. The skirt slides up his lanky legs, which are mostly hairless and scraped from training. 

There’s a thin mirror hung on Vanya’s closet door and when Klaus looks, it’s disappointingly not much different than he usually looks. So the blazer goes next, laying in a heap on the floor with his pants. Then he yanks off the tie and sweater too, and unfastens the first few buttons of his shirt. He never liked this stupid uniform anyway, it always felt like he was being suffocated. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and untucks the shirt tails, tying it up at his midriff like girls on TV wear. 

The image in the mirror is getting better, like a picture coming into focus. All the background noise is fading away, and piece by piece Klaus is starting to see himself. The skirt swishes around his thighs as he moves, and it makes him feel all tingly inside. 

Next he tousles his hair, letting the curls fall into his face. He pinches his cheeks until they turn red and bites his lips until they puff up a little,  _ because someone won’t let him use her makeup.  _ But the effect is the same, and when Klaus looks in the mirror he doesn’t see his pasty skin or his overbite or the old training scars. He sees someone  _ pretty.  _

And then he sees Vanya in the mirror.

He spins around and she’s standing in the doorway, holding her violin (which she must have stopped playing at some point  _ but Klaus wasn’t paying attention),  _ looking a little shocked to see her brother crossdressing in her room. They stare in silence for a moment, both floundering for something to say. Klaus feels that familiar shame rush into him, making him want to run and hide and cry, but he also wants to scream at her. Tell her to go away and  _ how dare she because this is special and she’s gonna ruin it-  _

“I’m sorry,” She says frantically, able to feel the anger rolling off her brother. Vanya chews on her lip and clutches her violin protectively, rambling “I didn’t mean- I just thought- but you were and-and I won’t tell. Please don’t be mad Klaus- I didn’t mean-”

“Vanya, chill,” he interrupts, his anger draining as his sister works herself up into a tizzy. “It’s not a big deal,” he tells her, shuffling his feet because he knows that he should be the one apologizing. 

They stand awkwardly in the tiny room, both kids looking at the floor to avoid any more embarrassment, until Vanya gathers up a little bit of courage.

“You can keep it,” she mumbles, just loud enough to be heard.

“...Really?” Klaus asks, wide eyed and clutching the edge of the skirt in tight fists. 

“Yeah, I don’t care,” she says, looking up through her bangs with a shy smile. “It, um- suits you.”

A genuine smile breaks across her brother's face, the kind that shows his dimples and he has  _ never  _ looked at her with. He takes a step forward, reaches out like he’s going to pull her into a hug, and then everything is ruined. 

“Number Seven! You will accompany me to the roof while the other-” Reginald stops in her doorway, pausing when his eyes land on Klaus, who is too scared to move. 

“Number Four,” he says, tone measured but harsh as he approaches. Vanya ducks away and shuffles into the corner where she can be ignored. “Why is it that I find you in here, doing  _ this, _ ” the way he says it makes Klaus feel like he’s been struck, “when you were meant to be training?” 

The boy’s mouth opens uselessly, too petrified and ashamed to even make a sound. He wants to sink into the floor, or teleport like Five. Honestly, he would rather face a dozen ghosts than stand in his father’s critical gaze. 

Reginald sneers in distaste, disappointed once again with his fourth child, and says “Perhaps I’ve extended you too much freedom, if this is what you choose to do with it. It won’t happen again.”

Klaus is crumbling, tears welling up and overflowing, still desperately clutching the hem of his skirt. He can’t imagine having  _ less  _ freedom. He already has to do the same stupid things every stupid day and can’t go outside or talk to regular people or  _ dress how he wants- _

“Take it off.”

Klaus looks up through blurry tears at his father. 

“Wh-”

“Now Number Four,” Reginald commands, leaving no room for discussion. “I won’t have you wasting anymore time.”

He’s shaking, shaking so bad that it’s almost impossible to hook his thumbs into the skirt and slide it down his legs. He shoots a desperate look at Vanya, but her head is hung so low that he can’t see past the curtain of hair. There’s nothing she could have done anyway, but Klaus feels so alone and afraid as the skirt hits the floor. The briefs he’s wearing don’t make him feel any less exposed, standing half dressed in his sister’s room in front of his father. 

When he goes to reach for his shorts, Reginald grabs him roughly by one ear, pinching the skin so hard that Klaus cringes and bites his tongue. The man turns abruptly, pulling the crying pre-teen down the hall. 

The other kids have appeared as well, draw to the commotion and watching as their brother is dragged away. The shame burns from the tips of his ears down to his toes as he avoids eye contact with his siblings, while sobbing  _ “sorry-sorry-sorry-”  _ to their father. 

_ It’s all ruined.  _


	3. Fishnets: Age 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some mild underage dub-con stuff in this one   
> (mostly alluded to)

### Fishnets: Age 14

Klaus comes out of a blackout leaning over the toilet, puking up all the alcohol and pills still swimming around in his stomach. It’s absolutely vile, acidic and burning as he dry-heaves a few more times. The bathroom lights are too bright but the toilet seat is cold against his cheek, a relief to the sharp pain in his head. 

The ringing in his ears dulls until he can hear his siblings talking at him, but there’s no fucking way he can understand what they are saying. Luther is barking about something, like he always is, and Diego is snapping back as he holds Klaus up so he doesn’t puke on the floor. Allison is shushing them every few seconds, while Vanya mumbles something from the bathroom door. And Ben, like the sweet angel he is, is pressing a glass of water against Klaus’s mouth. 

The wasted teen is able to swallow a few gulps, but can’t keep it down and vomits again. 

_ Ugh,  _ he thinks, tasting bile and cum in his mouth.  _ This fucking sucks. _

He bats Diego’s hands away and sits back against the wall, trying to pull enough air into his lungs. He feels the netting of his tights pull across his thighs, and a few hazy memories come back to him. 

Neither Diego or Allison wanted to sneak out with him tonight, and he didn’t even bother asking Luther, Ben, or Vanya. But Klaus wasn’t going to let that stop him, so he dug into the secret stash of stolen clothes and makeup under his bed. He meticulously lined his eyes and applied mascara like it wouldn't all be smudged in a few hours. He picked out a pair of tight pleather shorts, a threadbare t-shirt that always slips off his shoulders, and the combat boots he usually wears for rough terrain missions. But the best part is the pair of fishnet stockings that stand out in stark contrast to his pale thighs. 

He snuck out the kitchen window and smoked a hastily rolled joint on his way through the city. The autumn wind nipped at his bare legs but the high kept him warm. He gets bored of drinking himself to sleep every night, and there’s a shitty club downtown that doesn’t check I.D.s. The thumping music fills his head and people leer at him like he’s a piece of meat. 

Klaus loves it. He feels like the bell of the ball.

From then on it’s kind of fuzzy, swiping shots off the bar, getting lost in a crowd of dancing people, grinding against some faceless person who shoves a pill in his mouth, following a couple college guys into the bathroom, one of them pushing him to his knees while the others watched. 

Well, that explains the taste in his mouth and the sticky residue in his hair. 

After that he blacked out for a while, one moment second sucking a guy off in a dirty bathroom and the next getting dragged through an alley by Luther and Diego.

_ “No-o… I don’t want to go home. Let me go!”  _

_ “Shut up Klaus.” _

_ “Make me, Mama’s boy.” _

And that explains why it feels like he got punched in the jaw. He spits whatever puke is left in his mouth at Diego and almost gets hit again.

Luther keeps them apart, commanding “Both of you knock it off, before-”

And because the universe is a cruel ass bitch, Reginald Hargreeves appears in the doorway. All the other kids jump to their feet, heads down and breath held, like the obedient (conditioned) children (victims) they are. 

Klaus would do the same, if he wasn’t too wasted to stand. But when their father levels that disapproving gaze at the boy, with his skimpy clothes and smudged makeup and bruises on his knees and face, Klaus glares right back at him.

Yeah, he looks like a slut and a drunk and a  _ disappointment.  _ What’s the point of hiding it?

The drugs and alcohol make him brave and stupid, but he refuses to be ashamed. 

“Well since you all are awake at this hour, training shall begin early,” Reginald says after a moment, and all the kids side-eye Klaus resentfully. “Out to the courtyard with you.”

The siblings scatter out of the room like fire is at their heels, leaving Klaus swaying on the floor. 

“I suppose a few hours in the Mausoleum will do you well Number Four. ”

Klaus bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, just to keep himself from puking again. 

Reginald turns and walks briskly down the hall, with Klaus staggering behind like the obedient child he is. He doesn’t even try to resist.

_ What’s the point? _


	4. Feathers: Age 17

_Feathers: Age 17_

They got their asses handed to them by sleeper agents in Bolivia, just barely escaped with several injuries and caught a thirteen hour red-eye flight home. The whole time Klaus was aching, at least three of his ribs were broken and he ran out of Vicodin that morning. So he sat miserably through withdrawals and minor internal bleeding, while his siblings yelled at each other the whole time. Vanya had to stay home. Five’s not here to tell them to shut up. Ben’s quiet specter sits next to him on the plane. The silent company doesn’t make Klaus feel any better. 

But all of that is cake compared to the reaming they get from dear ol’ Dad. 

Reginald Hargreeves is waiting in the foyer as soon as they hobble into the house, all beaten and broken and exhausted. He doesn’t allow them even a moment to treat their wounds or rest, just gets right into berating them. 

It’s the same shit as usual _“So disapointed, years wasted raising them, blah blah blah, they’ll never amount to anything, etc.”_ Honestly Klaus is trying to tune it out, clutching his ribs and twitching every few seconds. He has some oxy pills and a gram of weed hidden in his mattress, if only he could escape down the hall…

“I don’t suppose this would have happened if Number Six was here.”

All four teens feel like all the air was sucked out of their lungs, even Vanya flinches. Ben’s spirit is standing across the room, shuffling his feet because he never liked being the center of attention, even when no one knows he’s there. His death last year is still too fresh, a sore spot that they wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. But Reginald has always been sadistic in reminding them of their failures.

And all eyes fall to Klaus, the biggest _disappointment_ of them all. What’s the point of being a necromancer if he can’t even bring Ben back?

Klaus has been trying, _really really trying,_ to conjure him a corporeal form, but then all the ghosts swarm like sharks around him. Every time he uses his powers they scream louder, ephemeral claws pulling at his psyche until he unravels. And then he pops some pills or smokes weed or chugs vodka or snorts a line of coke, until they all fade away. 

Then only Ben remains, watching Klaus spiral into numbness, trying not to look too sad. 

_“Maybe next time,”_ he’ll say, and then go off to haunt the library. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Klaus spits out, chest heaving with panic. He can’t stand the blame, the way everyone expects it to be _easy_ , like he can just pluck Ben out of the afterlife. He can’t deal with the way they look at him.“I can’t- I can’t anymore!”

Everyone is startled by his outburst, no one ever interrupts Dad’s rants, and then Klaus is shoving past Luther and stalking into his room. 

“Number Four, get back here!”

_I can’t I can’t I can’t-_

He’s probably having a panic attack, a common occurrence for all the Hargreeve siblings, but with it comes a rush of manic energy. He has to get out, his chest hurts so bad and his head is pounding, but _he has to get out._

Ignoring the demands of his father, Klaus pulls out a backpack from under his bed. He’s had it there for months, half packed because somehow he knew this was coming soon. He shoves a few more things in it. His drugs, the fifth of Everclear he hid in the air vent, whatever clothes he has that aren’t that stupid uniform. 

_Get out get out get out-_

He slings the bag over his shoulder and feels a natural high rush into him. He’s leaving, _he’s actually fucking leaving._ Coke doesn’t even feel this good, valium doesn’t even come close, he might be hallucinating because it can’t really be happening. 

With a wayward thought he grabs the pink feather boa out from its hiding spot in his closet. It’s cheap and tacky and a drunk girl looped it around his neck at a rave a few months ago. But he wore while he walked home, high on ecstasy and rubbing the soft little feathers between his fingers. He wanted to wear it everyday, wanted to be the kind of person who could, but the next morning he put it in the closet. 

But he’s going to wear it now, because all that shame and hiding is over. He’s blowing this popsicle stand.

On the way out Luther tries to stop him, Allison tries to talk him down, Diego is pouting because he’s jealous, but Klaus is a force of nature. Cosmic energy swirls around him, he can hear the calls of the dead, but he’s never felt more alive. 

As he passes Reginald their eyes meet, a silent command hanging in the air to fall back into line, _to obey_. Klaus wishes he had the courage to tell him off, to say all the fucked up terrible thoughts that Dad put in his head, tell him that he’d rather be a disappointment than pretend to be anyone else. 

But Klaus can’t, because he doesn’t really believe it yet. So instead he flips his boa over his shoulder and waves goodbye to his father, and runs out the front door. 

He gets a mile down the road and to the bus stop before he realizes Ben is there with him.

“Klaus.”

The only regret Klaus ever has about leaving home is that he took Ben away from their family again. Being dead is already lonely enough, but not even able to see them everyday is crushing. He’ll follow Klaus around through benders and blackouts, a special kind of Hell where he can’t help, but he can’t leave. 

Klaus feels terrible, he really does. He’s selfish, not cruel, but he _can’t_ go back.

“Sorry Benny-boy, you’re stuck with me,” he says with false humor, lighting up a joint as the bus pulls up. 

A few days later he’s with some guy in a van, doing whatever he has to for drugs. In a haze he sees that the guy, twice his age and fresh out of jail, has a tattoo gun. The needle on his palm is painful, but in a distantly familiar way. 

_Goodbye_


	5. Dress: Age 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how the age or timelines work anymore guys don't @ me

### Dress: Age 31

When they finally get back to their timeline and the dust of the non-apocalypse settles, all the Hargreeves kids don’t really know what to do with themselves. They stay at the mansion for the first few weeks, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it doesn’t.

Five is still stressed and drinks eight cups of coffee a day. Vanya buys a new violin and starts practicing again. Diego decides to take a break from vigilantism. Allison video chats with Clare every night. Luther doesn’t look up at the moon as much. Ben crossed over into the afterlife. 

And Klaus is getting better. He still smokes weed and drinks more than he should, but he’s kicked the hard drugs. His room at the mansion isn’t as claustrophobic as it used to be, but sometimes he still sleeps on the couch in the foyer. The ghosts are still there, but he’s able to keep them at a distance. He has a bubble bath every night and waffles for breakfast every morning, because self-care is important.

Today he’s thinking of hanging out with Diego, or maybe Allison and Vanya will want to have a girls (+Klaus) day, and maybe they can all go to dinner tonight or something. So he crawls out of bed around noon and puts himself together. 

He sits in front of the mirror and tames back the wild nest of curls until his hair looks more purposefully messy. Then he cleans off the smudged remains of yesterday’s eye-liner, just to apply a fresh layer. 

It’s weird getting ready without Ben hovering over his shoulder, calling him a narcissist.

The glamour-goth genderfuck style he used to favor has been slowly replaced with muted colors and floral patterns, though he still likes to throw on a studded belt and black feathers sometimes. He grabs a grey tank dress he got from a thrift shop with Allison. The handkerchief skirt swings around his knees, it makes him want to spin around in a shawl like Stevie Nicks. It has a low cut neckline edged with frayed lace, showing off the dog-tags around his neck. 

Klaus shares a bittersweet smile with his reflection, before looking at the picture of him and Dave taped to his mirror. He might have stolen it from the VFW. He kisses the tips of two fingers and then presses them against the picture. It’s a ritual he’s been doing everyday, hoping Dave can feel it in the afterlife. 

_ Soon,  _ Klaus reminds himself. His powers are getting stronger everyday, through rigorous meditation and focus.  _ Soon. _

But then he sees a flash of movement in the mirror, whipping around face the doorway. The dress twirls around him as he sees the spirit of Reginald Hargreeves strolling down the hall like he owns the place.

_ Well, he kind of does. _

_ But he’s also dead. _

A familiar chill crawls up his spine, the normal feeling of dread he would get when he saw his father. Of course now Dad decides to start haunting the halls,  _ after  _ his kids did all the dirty work. Their eyes meet for a second, a silent judgement hanging in the air as Reginald regards his face and hair and outfit. 

If Klaus had tried to dress like this as a teen, he would've never seen the light of day again. 

The palpable contempt still stings, still rattles around in the hollow void in his chest, but less than it used to. Maybe it’s because Klaus is older, and debatably wiser, and knows that he doesn’t have to take other people’s issues personally. 

Maybe it’s because that emptiness in him has started to fade away. 

So Klaus looks right back at his father, cocking his head to one side, as if to say  _ take a picture, it’ll last longer. _

But he’s still too afraid to talk to him, like really actually talk to Dad without his siblings with him. Maybe someday, he’s not in any rush to have a heart-to-heart. 

So he just waves playfully, smirking ‘cause he knows it’ll piss Dad off.

And Reginald just snears and turns on his heel, stalks down the hall until the ghostly sound of footsteps fade into oblivion. Probably going to go brood in his study for a few years. 

Klaus looks back to the mirror and counts it as a win.

_ Hello _

**Author's Note:**

> Finishing works i've already started ✋😒
> 
> Binging Umbrella academy and staring a new fanfic 👈😏


End file.
